


What Are You Gonna Do About It?

by wreckingthefinite



Series: 384 [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Eating, Food Kink, M/M, Stuffing, Teasing, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, bucky gets stucky, trash trash trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 07:30:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12007980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckingthefinite/pseuds/wreckingthefinite
Summary: Bucky's too big for Steve's kitchen chairs.  That doesn't stop him from sitting in them.





	What Are You Gonna Do About It?

**Author's Note:**

> This was a tumblr prompt that sort of took on a mind of its own--so here we are. This is just shameless feedist porn.

Bucky had bitched at Steve about his kitchen chairs the first time Steve had ever brought him to his apartment. They were secondhand, wooden monstrosities with very unforgiving arms, and they were absolutely not designed with 384 pounds of Bucky in mind.

"Well, don't sit at the table," Steve had said sweetly, pointing Bucky toward the living room. And to be fair, Bucky had no problem eating on the sofa, balancing his plate on his gut. Still, occasionally he felt like sitting at the table. It was sort of fun, anyway; Bucky's fat sides and plush love handles would squish over and under the arms of the chair, and Steve would never fail to stare at him like he'd hung the moon. 

Today, though, Steve isn't even home. Bucky had chosen the table just because he felt like it, just because he liked the way the sunshine streamed in through the kitchen window. Just because, maybe, he sort of sometimes liked the press of that too-small chair against his blubbery sides. 

He doesn't really mean to eat all that much. He'd made a stack of grilled cheese sandwiches, each one dripping with melty cheddar and Gouda, six pieces of bacon stacked between the cheese slices, and the bread coated in bacon grease instead of butter. They probably would have been enough, really, but he also grabs a few things from Steve's well-stocked pantry on the way to the table: a two liter of Coke, a couple bags of chips, a package of Oreos and a box of Twinkies. He really, really isn't planning on eating all of it. 

Somehow, though, it's one of those days when food seems to slide down his throat of its own volition. He knows it's probably too much, and mostly junk food, too, the kind that makes him feel bloated and achy and miserable when he eats too much of it—and he always eats too much of it. But it all tastes good, and his newly sized up sweats give his tummy plenty of room to expand. Before he even really thinks about it, he's polishing off the second bag of chips and the last of the Oreos. All that's left is half the bottle of Coke and the Twinkies. 

He briefly considers putting the Twinkies back—his belly is packed already, and it's not like he really needs to get any fatter—but ultimately he tears open the box. If Steve were here, he'd want him to eat those Twinkies. 

There are ten in the box, and Bucky feels really, truly sick by the time he unwraps the last one. His belly is taut as a drum, bloated up from food and soda, uncomfortably full. 

He shoves the last Twinkie in his mouth anyway, washing it down with another swig of soda. His stomach lurches, sloshing miserably. God, he's gonna pop. 

He needs to stretch out, get horizontal as soon as possible. His gut feels like an overextended balloon, stretched to bursting. And it doesn't help that Steve's stupid kitchen chair won't allow him to spread his legs far enough to let his gut rest between them. His big belly's sitting on his thighs, mounding up in his lap and practically pinning him. 

He rocks forward and levers himself up—only he doesn't get up. His tummy sloshes painfully, and the arms of his chair dig into his fat side rolls. 

Fuck. 

Bucky tries one more time, wincing painfully. This is it. He really is going to pop. Too fat to get out of a goddamn chair. Too fat. 

Jesus. He squirms a little, and the arms of the chair dig even further into his tubby sides. His belly creaks a few times, and he burps painfully into his fist. Ate too goddamn much. 

He glances at the clock above the stove. Steve's due home any second. God, he's a mess—literally too fat to get up, surrounded by empty food packages and plates. 

When he hears Steve's key in the lock five minutes later, he considers giving it one more shot at trying to get his fat ass up, but ultimately he doesn't even bother. Steve will love this, anyway.

Bucky likes it a little bit, himself, although he's not going to admit it to Steve. 

"Hey, Buck." Steve breezes into the kitchen, all smiles, a bag of groceries tucked under his arm. He surveys the table and all of its empty food wrappers, and then sets down his groceries and promptly gives Bucky's gut a firm poke. "I see you had lunch." 

Bucky winces at Steve's prodding fingers, stifling another burp. Christ, he's bloated. "Uh huh."

"A lot of lunch," Steve continues. "Your belly looks huge." 

Bucky nods, gently resting his palm on his gut. "I'm kinda full." An understatement. 

"Can you even get up?" Steve asks, eyes sparkly the way they always are when Bucky's being a glutton. 

"Of course." Bucky has no idea why he's lying. 

Steve tips his head to one side, considering, his eyes skating over Bucky's enormous tummy, the arms of the chair wedged between the stacked rolls of fat at his sides. Bucky hiccups and his stomach bounces painfully. Fuck. "Are you sure, Buck? You look...stuck." A little smile is teasing the corners of Steve's lips. 

"I'm not stuck," Bucky lies again. 

"Then come lay down and I'll rub your belly," Steve says. "You look miserable." 

Bucky squirms a little in the seat, thinking maybe if he can unstick his sides from the chair, he'll have enough momentum to get up. It might have even worked, too, if Steve hadn't been staring at him, pupils blown wide with desire. 

Bucky can't quite catch his breath, and it has less to do with having a gut swollen with junk food than it does with Steve's gaze. 

He rocks forward and gives a half-hearted shove up, but he knows he's not going to make it. 

"Fine, Rogers." His voice sounds rough even to his own ears. "I'm—I can’t. Not unless I break the arms off your stupid chair."

Steve grins, sunny and bright. "You knew you were too fat for that chair, and then you sat there and ate all of this?" He waves a hand at the food packages strewn on the table, and then gives Bucky another firm poke in his sore belly. 

"I wasn't gonna eat all of it." 

"But you did." Steve holds his hand out, waggling his fingers. "Come on, baby." 

Bucky's breath hitches again. Baby. That soft little endearment that means Steve wants to be bossy, wants to be in charge, wants to push a little bit. 

Bucky takes Steve's hand obediently, and Steve reaches down to Bucky's side, prodding at the roll of fat spilling over the arm of the chair. "We need to slide you forward, not pull you up," he says matter-of-factly, as if finding your very fat lover stuck in a chair is a normal, everyday problem. 

Bucky lays his metal hand across his swollen belly protectively, trying to keep it from jostling as Steve tugs him forward. It's resting halfway down his thighs—maybe more, with how swollen he is—and he feels incredibly round. 

Steve's assessment of the situation was correct, and Bucky slides forward without much trouble. When he gets to the end of the chair, his tubby sides slip free and Steve tugs him up to his feet. 

Steve takes a step back and eyes Bucky up and down. "Can you get to the bedroom or should I roll you?" 

"Smartass." Bucky cradles as much of his belly as he can and shuffles toward the hallway. "You coming or what?"

It's a wholly unnecessary question; Steve trots along behind him, enthusiastic as a Labrador. 

"Baby, you look so big," Steve murmurs when they get in the bedroom and Bucky gently wriggles out of his t-shirt. Even just that movement makes his belly lurch and roll. 

"My tummy hurts." Bucky says it quietly, playing into the mood he knows Steve's in. 

Steve's solicitous hands are all over him, carefully hoisting up his gut to get at the waistband of his sweats and tug them down, easing Bucky back onto the bed. 

"Poor thing," Steve says, pressing gentle circles into the top of his gut, where he feels so bloated it's hard to take a breath. His tummy fat rolls like waves, though, even as swollen with food as it is. "All that junk food. You're bloated." 

Bucky nods, letting his eyes drift shut as Steve rubs some of the ache from his overfed belly. 

Some time later, when Bucky has hiccuped and burped and groaned through his belly rub and he no longer feels like he might explode if he moves, he offers Steve a little smile. "Thanks, pal."

Steve responds by giving Bucky's belly a sharp little smack. "You're welcome. Glutton." 

Bucky doesn't say anything, just watches Steve, who's already draped between his thighs. 

Steve runs an appraising hand over Bucky's immense gut, grabbing a handful of his chubby underbelly and squeezing, then hefting all that weight a few experimental inches. Bucky groans. "You're too stuffed to fool around, aren't you?" 

"Pervert," Bucky says in lieu of an answer. 

Steve gives him another pointed slap near his belly button, and they both watch his belly jiggle. "Perverse like getting in a chair you know you don't fit in and then stuffing yourself till you can't get up?" Steve's voice is ragged, low and filthy, and Bucky loves him so much he thinks he could die with it. "Perverse like eating until you can barely walk? Until you're too fat to fuck?"

Before Bucky can answer, Steve's leaning up to kiss him, a slow dirty kiss that's all the more sexy for the way that Steve carefully balances over Bucky's stuffed belly, his own abs barely brushing Bucky's swollen tum. 

"What are you gonna do about it?" Bucky mumbles against Steve's lips. 

"Whatever I want, baby."

**Author's Note:**

> As always, your comments give me life and energy. And I'm [missjanedoeeyes](http://missjanedoeeyes.tumblr.com) on tumblr and we should be friends.


End file.
